Repentence
by Elizabeth Anamon
Summary: It happened when he was nine. He told about it when he was twenty eight. But it isn’t until now that he will get the one thing he's always wanted from her... Give me reviews and I might do a sequil!


**Title Repentance**

**Summary**** It happened when he was nine. He told about it when he was twenty eight. But it isn't until now that he will get the one thing he wanted from her.**

**Rating**** M**

_**Warning!**_** This story contains heavy reference to child molestation. If this disturbs you, please feel free to remove your cyber-self from my fic. This is obviously a Nick-centric story. It is told in first person from his POV. Please read the after notes at the end of the story.**

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The suspect I interviewed about a week ago had turned out to be innocent… of the crime he was accused of. He did confess to another crime, though. Statute was up on it and he was a minor at the time anyway, so he's a free man. Physically free, anyway. But the memory of what he did will with no doubt haunt him for the rest of his life.

He said it happened when he was fourteen. He was curious by nature and the confusion of puberty didn't help the fact that he was raised in a broken home. Even he knows, though, that that's no excuse for what he did. Once his little nice stayed with his family and…I think anyone can guess the rest.

"Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could take back what I did," he said with his tear-stained face buried in his hands. "Not a day goes by that I don't hate myself for it. I scarred a life and I…"

During his explanation my hands were burning just from touching the same table as him. I wanted to kill him. But I didn't. If I had I'd be telling this story from inside a jail cell or maybe an interrogation room on the other side of the table and handcuffed to it. No, instead I just shook my head and calmly stood and left.

I went straight to the men's room and puked. It was on that bathroom floor with my forehead against the toilet bowl that I had a weird, twisted epiphany. It was about something I'd wanted for a long, long time.

About twenty minutes later I walked out of the bathroom and ran into the pedophile from interrogation. Literally, I smacked into the guy. He tried to talk, but his mouth movements just made him look like a fish.

"All my life," I said to him, "I've wanted repentance. I've wanted to hear it and know that she regrets what she did to me and to know that she's not hurting anyone else. That's what you are going to give her. You are going to contact that little girl and give her that repentance."

He just stood there for a while and cleared his thought and nodded. "Okay," was all he said.

"Okay," I replied and walked away.

It was that day that led me to 801 North Perkins St, Amarillo, Texas. I sat in that blue Chevy rental in front of the home of Clare Blake (actually, it was Harris, now), the last-minute babysitter who ruined my life. It was my plan to give her the opportunity to repair some of that ruin and give me something I'd wanted for a long, long time. For at least an hour I just sat in the truck staring at my shaking hands in disbelief of what I was about to do. I was about to confront the woman who molested me all those years ago.

When I finally worked up the courage to get out of the truck and walk up to the house, a million questions rushed through my mind so fast I didn't have a chance to process them all. Did she remember me? Did she remember what she did? Has she hurt anyone else? Was she sorry? Had she asked God for forgiveness? Will she be mad that I'm doing this? Should I even be doing this? Will this just make it worse? Should I go back?

I was on the porch, my finger resting lightly on the doorbell and I seriously considered turning around and going right back to Las Vegas. My heart felt like it was going to explode and blow up my entire body and I was drenched in nervous sweet. I didn't even realize it when I rang the doorbell.

I heard the cheerful chime and knew that I had crossed the point of no return. No going back now. Now I had no choice but to confront Clare.

I heard the click of the door opening. I looked to eye level and didn't see anyone. I looked down to see a young boy dressed in baggy jeans and a Spiderman T-shirt. He looked like he was about nine.

He looked like he was about nine and I swear to fucking god my heart skipped a beat.

I had to force the words out. "Hello. Is your mom home?"

"Yeah."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Uh, hu. Mom!" The boy disappeared behind the door and in about seventeen seconds (yeah, I sorta' counted) she came to the door. Her face went pale the moment our eyes met and I knew she knew who I was.

"Hi," I said dryly.

"Come on in." Her thick Texas accent sounded cheerful, but her face contradicted her tone. She led me into a tidy living room where a teenaged girl was occupied with a book and an iPod.

"Ally," she said to her daughter, but the girl didn't hear. "Ally," she said louder. This time the girl removed one of her earphones. "Ally, why don't you go up to your room? I need to talk to this man."

"Okay," she replied politely and complied with her mother.

When Ally was gone, Clare motioned for us to sit down.

"I take it you remember me," I said as I took a seat on the edge of a chair as she took a seat on the couch.

"Yes, Nick. I remember you and I know what you're here about."

The room was silent for moments that seemed like eternity. I could taste the poison in my own voice when I finally brome the silence. "You ruined my life."

"Nick-"

"No!" I yelled and stood up. "Let me talk. You hurt me. I didn't even tell anyone until a few years ago. For years I felt the shame because of what you did to me! For years I thought that if you ruined anyone else's life that it would be my fault! Do you know what that's like? Do you know how that feels?"

Again the room was silent.

"Yes, Nick. I do. When I was seven years old, a man continued a vicious cycle and raped me. When a person is sexually abused, for some reason there is always an urge in the back of there mind to do the same thing to someone else. Some people are strong enough to go against it and become a good person. I wasn't. I know that's no excuse for what I did to you, Nick. Not a day goes by that I don't wish I could reverse what I did to you. I've repented of my sins to the Good Lord and I prayed for him to give me an opportunity to repent my sins to you. And I swear on the lives of my children that I never hurt anyone after what I did to you."

For the third agonizing time, the room was silent.

"Thank you. That's all I needed to know." I turned around and started to leave.

"Nick," she said and stood, "I know this is a stupid question and it's probably wrong of me to ask it, but will you ever forgive me?"

Following that question came the most awkward silence of my life. And this one lingered, because I didn't reply. I just walked away.

Some day, when I finally come to terms with what happened, I'll forgive Clare. I'll even call her up and tell her so. When I'm ready. I will. I know that someday I'll forgive Clare. I think it's true what she said about someone who was sexually abused feeling the "urge." I always thought I was some sick bastard, you know? No better than her. But I think I know better then to think that now. I would never dream of letting myself hurt someone. I'm better because I'm stronger. I do believe in the vicious cycle that drives people to hurt others. It had to start somewhere, though. And it also has to end somewhere. I'm proud to say that the chain reaction of victim has a victim has a victim ends here. This victim will not be the offender. It's time for this to end.

I will rise above this.

It ends with me.

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**I am by no means saying that it's ok to be a child molester. I am just saying that not all of them make a habit of it. Some are just people who made one horrible mistake in a moment of weakness. And there really is a cycle that Clare told Nick about. It's true. It really does exist. Oh, just so nobody says I have no fucking clue what I'm talking about from a victim's point of view, shut up, I am one. **


End file.
